


Orientation Session

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Castration, Cuddling & Snuggling, Friends With Benefits, Genital Nullification, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23110522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: Geralt is learning his way around Kaer Morhen, and around his own body, after showing up with amnesia. Eskel helps.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 37
Kudos: 385





	Orientation Session

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set at the start of the first Witcher video game, between Geralt being found and brought back to Kaer Morhen and Geralt showing up for ~~player character controls tutorial~~ sparring.
> 
> This story's Geralt and Eskel both had testicles & penis removed in their late teens, when witcher mutations & sensory enhancements plus teenage libido madness meant their level of sexual drive and sensation was too much to cope with. The process is only briefly referenced, as something they chose, and Geralt and Eskel both are comfortable with their bodies as they are now (and therefore don't see much reason to describe what's not there in very specific terms).
> 
> Thanks to everyone in the Kaer Morhen trash heap for encouraging this, and Brighteyedjill for beta!

It took a while--he had little sense of time, so he couldn't have said how long--before he was able to make them understand that he wasn't just muzzy and disoriented. He didn't know who any of them were, or what this place was, or who he himself was, though given that they kept calling him "Geralt" he could make a pretty good guess at his own name. 

The old man, with the gray hair and lined face, made some thoughtful noises at that, though he didn't seem alarmed. The redheaded woman went out of the room, to what she must have thought was a point out of his earshot, and hyperventilated for a while, gasping incoherent curses, until the gray-haired man turned his head and called out, "Triss, we can still hear you. Up in your room or maybe out on the battlements, please."

She went silent, and then there was a rapid patter of footsteps.

"Well," the old man said. "I'm Vesemir, this is Kaer Morhen, and you and I and Lambert and Eskel are witchers. I imagine you'll pick things up as you go along. Rest for now, if you're still not feeling eager to do anything else."

Geralt nodded, turned over, and went back to sleep. Even now that he didn't have to make them understand anything, he was restless, drifting in and out of formless dreams, half-aware of the others around him. Red-haired Triss, the only woman around, evidently had her own room somewhere; the rest of them bedded down in a row in the main hall.

There were only five beds; it wasn't much of a row. 

At some point Geralt woke and found that three of the beds were occupied; only the one nearest to him was still empty. It was sometime after he'd noticed that fact and started trying to work out who was missing--he could see a gray head and two dark ones--that he realized he was awake, that he'd been awake and mostly clear-headed for several minutes now. 

He was still tired. He _wanted_ to go back to sleep, as much to escape the gaping void of all he didn't know as to rest. But something was keeping him awake, some not-rightness nagging at him. 

There was food and water set on a low table beside his bed. Geralt dimly recalled half-waking to consume whatever was there, several times now. He tried a sip of water, a few bites of bread, but neither seemed to touch the vague something keeping him awake.

Well, maybe the opposite problem, then. Even when he focused he couldn't sense that his bladder or bowels were the problem, but he got up anyway, walking softly, alone in the semi-dark, to the garderobe. Had someone told him it was there? Had he used it before now? Or was this something he knew?

If he knew where it was, how the hell didn't he know whether he needed to piss?

He did, as it turned out, and took a shit for good measure, and cleaned himself up with the supplies he knew would be there, not letting himself think too much about any part of that process. 

He tossed the refuse down the hole after the rest and then stopped, staring. There was something else. He was supposed to do something else. He knew he was supposed to do something else but he didn't know what, or how he knew that, or what the something else could possibly be. 

He heard someone approach the door, building a mental image from the soft sound of booted footsteps--the biggest one, with the scarred face, the one who'd stayed at Geralt's side as they brought him in, and the first several times he swam up out of his daze to try to speak. 

He'd been the first one to grasp that Geralt didn't know them, Geralt thought. After Geralt had said, " _Who are you?_ " to that face... after that, it was the gray-haired one--Vesemir--who had been at his side when he woke, and who had asked him questions each time until he established that Geralt knew nothing.

Geralt hadn't seen the scarred one since he'd asked his name, so he _still_ didn't know the man's name, but he suspected he knew who the empty bed belonged to.

"Wolf?" That low voice came, very quiet, just enough to reach him through the door. 

He'd called Geralt that before. He was the only one who didn't call him Geralt. That probably meant they were friends, or had been. Geralt wondered what he was meant to call the man, if there was some other name the others wouldn't use, or even know. 

Well, Geralt wasn't going to figure that out, or anything else either, by hiding in the privy. He opened the door a little. 

The scarred man wrinkled his nose, then narrowed his eyes. "Have you tried your signs yet?"

Geralt blinked at him; the scarred man exhaled a little curse. "Signs, they're witcher combat magic. We can all do a few of them, and we normally use igni--fire--to clean the privy when we're done with it."

Geralt looked back toward the stone seat and the dark hole; the scarred man could obviously smell that Geralt hadn't cleaned it yet. Geralt raised a hand thoughtfully, fingers crooking as he searched for... something. 

The scarred man huffed behind him and shouldered through the door, putting one hand on Geralt's shoulder to keep him still. He ran his right hand down Geralt's extended arm and settling his hand over Geralt's, shaping his fingers and guiding his hand, both toward the privy hole and through a three-point motion that felt familiar as soon as he'd done it.

The fire that burst forth, though, came from the other man's hand, not his own. He could feel a little tingle against his skin as it happened, and nothing at all coming from himself. He thought he could sense where he would draw it from--there was a potential inside him that was depleted now, but would return, like a frozen limb.

He could sense something else, too, though. The scarred man was still holding his shoulder, his arm still resting along Geralt's, and the vague _something_ that he'd wanted crystallized into something almost like an itch, everywhere they touched. The muscles of his core and pelvis tightened as he noticed it, and he restrained the urge to back up a half-step, to press himself against the man's whole body.

Possibly they weren't only friends? But...

Geralt let out a tiny frustrated noise and pressed his hand to the front of his pants, and felt a phantom of sensation, the possibility of more. But he'd just been all over that area, and it didn't seem like something that should be bothering him. It didn't seem like there was anything there to be bothered by.

The scarred man laughed softly. "Yeah, I guess that's not any more obvious than signs, if you don't remember. We had to experiment enough to figure it out the first time around."

Geralt half turned, and the man still didn't pull away, so he had an arm around Geralt's shoulders and their faces were so close they were nearly touching. Geralt blurted out, "What _do_ I call you?"

Geralt shut his teeth with a click as soon as the words were out, but the man didn't leave him this time. He said, "Eskel. Just that, never had a nickname stick since we were kids. Come on, Wolf, let me show you how to get yourself settled so you can sleep."

Geralt glanced in the direction of the three occupied and two vacant beds, but Eskel led him firmly away form the others, into a less cavernous room warmed by a raised fireplace big enough to roast a steer, though the fire was banked now. He supposed that getting it roaring again was never much of a problem here. 

Eskel shook out a folded bundle into a blanket, and dropped it on the floor in front of the raised hearth before setting down his weapons and pulling his shirt off. Geralt looked down at himself--he wasn't armed, but he pulled his loose linen shirt off, and shoved down the loose braies he'd been sleeping in while he was at it. Eskel was wearing leathers and boots, but he didn't remove all of that, just got the front open and unfastened, shoving them down far enough to see that Eskel was as smooth and bare as Geralt was between the legs.

He sat down on the blanket then, beckoning for Geralt to join him. "I'm on watch, theoretically," Eskel explained as Geralt glanced toward the little heap of his own abandoned and entirely unarmored clothes. "Gotta be able to pull 'em up quick if something happens. You're all right. Come on."

"I was naked before," Geralt murmured as he joined Eskel, pressing close to his side instinctively. Eskel didn't seem to mind, slinging an arm around Geralt's shoulders again. Between that and the fire-heated stone behind him, Geralt felt blissfully warm. He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't felt chilled, not since he'd collapsed in the woods; Eskel was introducing him to all kinds of new things tonight.

"You were never shy about it," Eskel said easily. "But, yeah, we're going to have to put together some new gear for you, and we haven't been keeping much on hand. Still, you'll have better than sleep clothes before you go out on the Path."

Geralt nodded, wriggling and looking down between his legs, and between Eskel's. He wasn't too worried about clothes or armor right now. "What... why do I..."

"You always got the itch pretty bad--you decided to get the cut before I did, although I wasn't far behind you. Now it's not so bad, but easier to miss. Happens to me sometimes, out on the Path or something, and there's just this nagging... something, and it takes a while to work out."

As if idly, Eskel dropped his own hand to his crotch, fingers just framing the place where he'd piss from. Geralt immediately copied the movement, rubbing fingers curiously over the smooth skin there; muscles tightened in reflex, hardening his abdomen under the heel of his hand, but that didn't tell him anything helpful. He pressed harder with his fingers, which got him a little dart of almost-something, but...

Eskel snickered, and Geralt glared. "If you're in a hurry and you want to get right to it," Eskel said, widening his thighs further and sliding his hand further between them. "You want this, here, before you get as far as your ass."

Geralt mimicked him again, rubbing experimentally until a burst of sensation jolted through him, making him freeze. As it ebbed he recognized it for pleasure, not pain, but in the first instant it had been too intense to tell. 

"Yeah," Eskel murmured. "And this is _after_ the cut and about eighty years for our blood to cool. We were a menace to ourselves when we were younger." 

Geralt nodded, only half comprehending what Eskel was saying. He told himself to do it again, that it was what he wanted and needed, but he hesitated. 

Eskel's hand joined his then, warm callused fingers sliding between his, touching Geralt as confidently as Geralt touched himself. More confidently, really, since Eskel didn't hesitate at all. His fingertips stroked over that place in a light, rapid rhythm, setting off just enough sensation to make Geralt's breath come short as pleasure--definitely pleasure this time--rose through him.

He tugged his hand out from under Eskel's hand and reached over, cupping his own hand to Eskel's crotch, his palm fitting the smooth curve of the pubic bone as his fingers slipped down between Eskel's legs, to copy what Eskel was doing to him as best he could through the haze of sensation. Not too much, just exactly enough, going on and on. He felt Eskel's whole body flush hotter beside him, and Eskel's breathing went rough. The scent of arousal was rising up off of both of them now, and it was good, so much better than just being touched, to know he was doing that to Eskel, but there was still something more, something--

Geralt let the instinct move him without stopping to think; he twisted, throwing a thigh over Eskel's legs, and caught the nape of Eskel's neck with the hand not occupied between Eskel's legs, tugging him into a kiss.

Eskel stilled under him, his breath stopping and his wonderfully flicking fingers freezing, and Geralt thought he'd done something very, very wrong--he didn't know anything, he should have let Eskel show him--and then Eskel relaxed, huffing an almost laugh against Geralt's lips. 

"Still you in there," he muttered, and then he tugged Geralt over to straddle his lap, winding an arm around Geralt to keep him close, as he kissed him and returned to driving him out of what mind he had. It was Geralt's turn to freeze--with a little yelp--when he felt another new bolt of sensation, and he only recognized after that Eskel had wrapped that arm around him far enough to brush Geralt's nipple with his fingertip. 

"Yep," Eskel muttered. "That still works too."

Geralt made a helpless little sound, his own hands going slack, as Eskel went back to touching him--in both places now, and Geralt could only kiss him and feel it, all the different sensations winding together. He was lost in the taste and scent of Eskel and the skimming touches of their tongues and Eskel's fingers pressing, until a little spasm went through him and he felt something wet escape him, right where Eskel's palm pressed against his pisshole. 

"Yeah, that's..." Eskel muttered, his voice gone low and rumbling so Geralt could just about feel it as another touch, and then he felt Eskel's thumb, slick with whatever had just come out of him, stroking right around his front hole, waking all kinds of sensations there that made Geralt gasp and jerk and spurt again and again as Eskel's fingers pressed more firmly now, in relentless pulses that made the peak of sensation last and last until Geralt half-collapsed over him. 

"What," Geralt mumbled, and Eskel laughed and nuzzled his cheek a little. 

"Don't need balls or a cock to come," Eskel said. "Having them was overkill, for us--made us want it so bad and feel it so much that it wasn't even good, it was just crazy. Now we can enjoy it, you just have to know how to get there."

That reminded Geralt that he hadn't gotten Eskel anywhere yet; he'd allowed himself to utterly lose track as soon as Eskel started really kissing and touching him, and that wouldn't do. Anyway, he wanted more of that scent and taste that he'd only just started to get when he started kissing Eskel--he'd gotten right in his own way, there.

"Hmm," Geralt mumbled, pushing himself up off of Eskel, so he could nose and lick at Eskel's throat, down to the sweat-damp hollow at the base of it. 

Eskel groaned, but his hands on Geralt only encouraged, and there was no way to mistake it for a sound of pain or protest, not with Eskel's heat and scent against his face. He adjusted the angle of his hand and got his fingers working between Eskel's legs again, finding the rhythm that made Eskel's thighs fall open and his heart race, exploring Eskel's chest with his mouth and his free hand. One nipple, cleaved by a scar, got no response, but the other made Eskel's whole abdomen go tight and one leg hook around Geralt's hips. Geralt traced it lightly with his teeth as he tried a slower, firmer stroke between Eskel's legs, and Eskel growled and shot a little of that slick stuff against Geralt's palm.

Geralt moved down, then, pressing his face into the heat of Eskel's crotch even if he had to press his throat uncomfortably against the leathers still only pushed halfway down Eskel's thighs. That didn't matter, not when he was lapping at Eskel's hole and still working with his fingers behind it, and Eskel closed his fist hard in Geralt's hair. He hardly noticed the sharp pull over the flavor on his tongue, the smell and feel of Eskel filling all his senses as he came. Dimly, Geralt was aware of his own hips tensing, jerking, as an echo of sensation rocked through him as he got Eskel off.

It was only when he'd been still a moment, his forehead resting against Eskel's thigh as he breathed, licking the taste of Eskel off his lips, that he reached down and touched himself, curious at that feeling. He shuddered a little, finding himself more sensitive than ever, and a fresh bit of wetness smeared on his thigh where he'd pressed against himself. 

Eskel's hands closed on his arms and tugged him up, and Geralt, feeling limp and well-worked for the first time instead of bewilderingly fatigued, let himself be moved. 

"Yeah," Eskel said, sounding a little breathless as they leaned into each other. "And _that_ is why you have as much sex with people out on the Path as any uncut witcher ever did. You get off on other people almost as much as being touched yourself--I think half of them don't even notice you're missing anything, they're so happy with you going down on them."

Geralt hummed agreeably. It sounded right, felt right. He'd felt so entirely where he wanted to be with his face between Eskel's thighs, and other images flitted through his mind, rich body-smells and soft skin and other parts to lick on people who had more to work with than he or Eskel had kept. Cunts and cocks and balls and asses--well, he had one of those. He shuddered again at the thought of getting fucked, touching that spot from the inside, with someone pressed up against him all over.

Eskel probably could do that with his fingers, or...

He was shaken half-awake by Eskel laughing under him. "Yeah, see. Now you'll be able to sleep. Come on, get a few clothes on."

Geralt obeyed, though Eskel helped him enough that it would have been embarrassing if he was in any state to notice, or if it were possible to be embarrassed with Eskel. He was asleep almost before Eskel had helped him settle back onto his bed, only dimly noticing the gruffly amused remark from Vesemir. 

When he woke in the morning, he felt whole and fully present for the first time, and found that someone had left proper clothes for him, folded at the foot of the bed. There was even a pair of boots that fit, more or less. He got dressed and went looking for the others, his hand already itching for the hilt of a sword.


End file.
